


Moonlight/Restlessness

by asmanysoulsastherebestars



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Self-Insert, not tagging as pairing on purpose, sooorrt of???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 15:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20977838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmanysoulsastherebestars/pseuds/asmanysoulsastherebestars
Summary: You’ve headed out by yourself for some time alone, away from a town that currently feels stifling. Only problem is, Billy Hargrove must have had a similar idea, and comes across you as you’re dancing by yourself - much to his annoyance.Warnings: drinking/underage drinking, suggestive if you squint, some uhhh despair at life ig, some profanity, maybe Billy’s a bit ooc in being too chill idkI wrote this in July and tried hard not to make this an 'x reader' as it did start that way, but then I remembered what happened in S2 and realised I was really wrong to romanticise that. There's longer posts about it onmy tumblr. Anything that's left that can be interpreted that way I felt was like how the character would be.This is being beta'd, but I wanted to post anyway as it's been a while. So if this gets edited in the future, it's only so it's an updated version.





	Moonlight/Restlessness

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a feeling of constantly having to be doing, and listening to [ Billy’s official playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5X8ldmmNiaVEvh1iXA0v5n?si=ON-PZRVjRoaYmwocwTTN_g), which is pretty killer (the link is to a different playlist I made that does not have the song ‘Dude (Looks Like A Lady)’ by Aerosmith). Best played hella loud.  
There’s two song links in the fic which go to Spotify. If they don't work, the first is Cum on Feel the Noize by Quiet Riot, and the second Runnin’ With the Devil by Van Halen.

The moon was unusually bright as you looked over Hawkins, Indiana, with the twangy wails of electric guitars and heavy drum beats drifting from a portable stereo. The object itself was scratched and littered with small dents, and you swore one of the speakers was quieter than the other, but it served its purpose tonight of helping to drown out the world.

You rock your body to the rhythm of the, well, rock - shitty beer in hand and trainers scuffing along the hard ground as you move in whichever direction the songs take you in, gathering dust as they did so. But who cares of dirt and dust when they’re alone, and rebellion pulses in their veins, alcohol lies warm and heavy in their limbs, and music beats in their heart - witnessed only by the stars?

Not you. Not tonight.

And it’s this attempt at being carefree that causes you not to notice as your number of observers increases by one.

Billy Hargrove was looking for any kind of distraction, and driving along with his own [ music ](https://open.spotify.com/album/1JSjQhsnC2xElFjTVG3Qhy?highlight=spotify:track:6FBmHx1FuaSnTnnnaThgbF) blasting wasn’t cutting it right now. So when he pulled up to one of his favourite places to be angry at the world without having anyone look at him and expect anything, and found somebody there? It was safe to say he wasn’t best pleased.

With the full intention of telling whoever it was to clear off - maybe in less polite words - Billy cuts off the song that was playing to leave it strangely echoing in the air, and gets out of his car. He swings the door shut with a resolute _slam_, dirt crunching under his boots as he approaches, and looks at your figure with a glare. Harsh words jump up his throat and poise themselves, ready to strike, on his tongue.

As he sees you closer, though, he can’t bring himself to speak them.

Not because he’s struck by any fanciful ideas, or thinks that you look good, or sees some kind of picturesque romance in you under the moonlight. Rather, it’s your absurd state - hair in your face, pushed away by frantic hands, only to fall back into awkward angles as you stupidly half-jump and twist around and nod your head to the beat, attempting to mouth the words but getting them wrong, or a second too early, or a second too late - you look absolutely ridiculous.

It’s that severe adjective, _ridiculous_, he thinks of in particular when he looks at you. Yet those harsh words he had readied find themselves halting in their tracks and retreating. That stops Billy short, and presents him with responses he isn’t particularly used to, like pause, and hesitation. And he can’t figure out why.

Then he realises - it’s because you look exactly how he wants to feel right now.

You are careless, free, swept into a world cut off from reality and cumbersome emotions. Not only that, but you’re so incredibly _determined_ to be so, he notices as he spies the hard set of your jaw, the tightly closed eyes, the empty beer bottles at your feet. He is honestly, ignorantly surprised that someone else desires escape so much, as badly as he does.

Bringing your drink to your lips, you open your eyes briefly to ground yourself - but are brought back to earth in a far more jarring away than expected as you find Billy instead, watching you unsmilingly with a strange look in his eyes. 

There’s no time to decipher it, however, as a smirk instantly takes over and he tilts his chin to make sure he’s looking down at you as he jibes, “Nice dancing, L/N.”

Your features sharpen with annoyance and you look away, certainly not in the mood for this. “Sure, Hargrove.”

In a sudden motion he moves closer, practically pouncing to lean down and grab a beer from where the pack lies on the ground.

“Hey!” you challenge, only to be met with a perfect look of innocence as he swiftly retreats to lean against a nearby tree, one foot up against it, a picture of casual and uncaring.

“You weren’t gonna offer me one?” is his reply, and the amusement dancing in his eyes is enough to evoke an eye-roll and pursing of your lips, looking away in a pretend consideration of the view. Hoping that the lack of rebuttal will bore him enough that he’ll leave.

There’s a heavy, stiff lull, the song crying out from the battered stereo all that fills the silence.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for this kind of music, L/N.”

You can’t tell if it’s supposed to be conversation or another attempt at taunting, and you feel you know enough about Billy to safely assume it’s the latter. Ironic, given that you say, “Yeah, well, there’s more to people than how they are at school.”

Good God does Billy Hargrove know that. He finds his impulses to mock faltering for a second time that night, instead reacting with a quick, slight raise of his eyebrows, barely noticeable and quickly hidden.

A cold minute passes before his next venture: “So what are you so angry about that you’re playing this shit and drinking on the edge of a cliff?”

You huff, “’S hardly a cliff.”

Billy doesn’t respond, so you glance at him to meet an expectant, waiting pair of eyes. Is he sincerely asking? Even looking at his face, it’s difficult to discern what he’s thinking. Though seemingly always the way with him, it doesn’t exactly make you feel inclined to share.

There’s a shrug of your shoulders and the words, “Nothing I want to talk to you about,” easily leave your lips - defensive, and practiced to be so.

His features capture a look of mildly surprised agreement. “Fair enough,” he says, and takes a swig of his stolen drink. He looks like he considers something, and then pushes himself off the tree, stepping closer. “Well how about we don’t talk about it and do something far more interesting instead?”

You first reaction is to scoff. Then you take in the way he leans towards you, the out-of-the-blue appearance of a smoulder in his eyes, the knowing lift of his mouth into a suggestive smirk. _He can’t be serious. He was literally just asking - and now he’s - wow._

Looking away with a laugh you say, “No, thanks.”

“Your loss…” he trails off, leaving the words suggestively hanging. When you can look at him again, he’s still eyeing you, tongue between his teeth in a provocative grin.

You let out a derisive snort, and cast your gaze anywhere but the lilt of his lips, decidedly uninterested and intending for him to catch on.

Suddenly Billy laughs, brushing it off, all confidence - and it actually seems genuine, a sound you didn’t think would ever grace your ears. The conversation stills again as it fades, leaving the night empty and chilled once more.

You both watch over Hawkins in silence, sipping your beers. The town is quiet and hardly any lights are on given the lateness of the hour. From above like this, so distanced and detached, it doesn’t even look that recognisable. You can’t confess to being able to distinguish the layout of the streets, nevermind locate your house. It’s almost possible to pretend it’s somewhere you’ve never been, and you’re not interested in going to, either. You could be little more than a traveller passing by, briefly stopping under the stars before disappearing along the winding roads.

The idea of what the pair of you must look like is amusing. If someone were to observe you now, they might miss the slight stiffness in your postures, the pensive yet guarded expressions as you think your separate thoughts - perhaps you’d be seen as friends, simply listening to music and drinking together. But you’re just as unfamiliar with each other as you currently feel to your home town.

“What about you?” you ask abruptly.

He looks at you with a frown, confused.

“What are you getting away from by driving around so late and picking up - or _trying_ to pick up - drunk girls?”

“Who said I was picking you up?” he retorts with feigned innocence, partly trying to stall any answer to the question, partly trying to flirt again, although that aimed to have the same effect.

You raise your eyebrows at him until he breaks from your stare with a small chuckle and looks out, away from the inquisition. It’s subtle, but while you watch for an answer you can see the way the mirth fades from his eyes, staying fixed, stiff and cold - fake - in his lips. 

It takes a moment before Billy says flatly, “Nothing I wanna talk about either.”

As you look over the town together, the moon shines silver and strong, and a light breeze rustles the leaves of the trees. It would be peaceful if it weren’t for the noise of the stereo and the awkward tension of unexpected company.

“What are you gonna do, after high school?” you ask, purely out of an anxious need to fill the silence.  
The answer comes quick, dreamt of for so long he doesn’t need to think about it. “I’m outta here, doll. All the way to California.”

Your eyebrows raise at him at the quick response. He’s staring in the direction of Hawkins, but the glaze over his eyes says it’s not what he’s seeing. “That’s really far away,” you offer, simply, dumbly, wary to ask for reasons from this boy who suddenly seems so wistful.

“Yeah.” It’s one syllable and it’s hardened, bitter with the knowledge of how much time he’d spent looking up at a map, imagining long days and nights of driving in his car until he could finally, _finally_ be able to experience the coolness of the Pacific Ocean once more.

He sighs a little, barely noticeable, before returning, “You?”

_Oh_. You blink in surprise, not having expected him to ask.

“I think I have to get out of here too.”

“You just _think_ you have to?” His response brings the kind of criticism you’d been expecting to hear since he arrived, biting and full of disdain.

“Well…” you begin, but aren’t sure if it would be a good idea to continue. This is Billy, after all. Would he even care?

When you think about it the next morning, It’s unclear if the decision to share your thoughts - regardless of what Billy freaking Hargrove might think - should be attributed to the alcohol, the way he cocks his eyebrow and looks at you through those long eyelashes, or just the simple, human desire for a connection. 

All the same, you find words you’ve wanted to say for a long time suddenly spilling from your lips. “Sometimes, this small-town life seems okay, seems… tolerable. Like, I guess - I don’t really care how I’m existing, as long as I just am.”

_Ah._

_Too far?_

You glance at him, mind turning over ways to backtrack - 

But he’s looking at you with what can only be considered _real_ intensity now. Any other expressions you saw on him tonight fall to kneel in reverence to this one - mere parodies of emotion compared to this new look in his eyes.

Because Billy has a terrible feeling that you’re talking about something he can relate to.

“And other times?” he offers, voice low and hushed as though he’s afraid to ask, but needs to hear what you say. It’s somewhat jarring how he doesn’t even look like the same person without all the flirt and bravado and anger you’re so used to seeing, anticipation so blatantly present on his face.

“Other times… the idea of staying - of being completely oblivious to what’s out there like every other fuckin’ person in this town makes me - makes me feel absolutely sick with - ” you throw out the hand clutching the beer bottle in an anxious gesture as you try to find the right word, “with, I don’t know, restlessness.”

He holds your gaze for what feels like a long, long time before eventually exhaling a heavy breath. “Yeah… I get that.”

It’s a peculiar moment.

One that makes Hawkins look so small. A tiny section of the world, and the entirety of yours. From this height, with this desire to see and do anything and everything, it’s a place that just seems so restrictive and so goddamn _boring_.

You sneak a glance at Billy Hargrove and his blue eyes, which lock with yours to convey an understanding of emotion that for now seems perfectly _right_, like finding something buried at the back of a drawer that you thought you’d lost forever. The two of you are entirely different in so many ways, - outlook, actions, experiences - but tonight you understood each other, in some way.

The connection breaks as you stifle a yawn.

Billy can’t help arching a condescending brow at the noise. “Don’t suppose you thought about how to get home in your sorry state, did you?” 

He only waits for a second before he grimaces and lifts your stereo, heading for his car whilst muttering something under his breath that sounds a hell of a lot like: ‘this is stupid’. You stand watching him, a little dumbfounded and not wanting to assume that he’s doing what you think he’s doing.

After a few seconds he confirms you suspicions by calling over his shoulder, “At least let me drive you home if I can’t pick you up.”

He turns as he walks so that he’s going backwards, grin on his face expecting you to follow and signalling that any perceived ‘moment’ between you was over, careful thought and feeling having been sent back to the background. Any hesitation breaks as you can’t help shaking your head with a smile that tries, and fails gloriously, to be hidden. You go after him, unceremoniously tossing the beer bottles in a nearby dumpster on your way.

And Billy drives you home. Not exactly how you thought the night would go.

His [ music](https://open.spotify.com/album/7DdEbYFPKTZ8KB4z6L4UnQ?highlight=spotify:track:3KhF2YiNpJvGpfiCW45R6D) blasts at an obnoxious volume from the car’s stereo, because of course it does. But as you look at the world rushing past, there’s undeniably something about having songs surround you so loudly that makes them far better, every beat able to thrum in your chest, every word loud enough to leave no room for thinking.

Billy drives so fast that the wind rushes through the rolled-down windows to dance in your hair, and every time he turns a corner you tense in anticipation of a danger that’s only narrowly avoided. He has one hand drifting out the window and the other on the wheel, tapping his fingers to the rhythm, enjoying the pure boundlessness of being loud and fast and thoughtless.

He catches you looking over at him and chuckles, smirking as he looks back at the road. “You regretting not saying yes to my offer?”

Another eye roll. “Don’t think so, Billy.”

He just laughs.

All too soon you arrive, and the prospect of going inside brings a sigh. Getting into bed sounds nice, but knowing it ends this? Less so. 

Right now the world is alien in its silence, time stopped in its chilly darkness - limitless and yours. It’s the magic of running around in a world asleep, and the lingering dread of knowing that when it wakes up, you’re restricted again. It's the euphoric rush of an unexpected companionship, and the unwilligness to part, probably as strangers. It's far too fleeting.

“Look,” Billy begins, and then immediately stalls, the amount of effort it takes for him say something nice clear on his face, “it’s not long ‘til schools over and… we’re free.” He only looks over once he finishes speaking, jaw set and eyes tired. Ready to be ‘free’ a long time ago.

“Yeah…”

There’s an awkward pause as you look at each other and feel the need to say more, but aren’t sure how, or even what.

“Thanks for the ride?”

He looks away. “Right.”

After a moment of hesitation, you grab your stereo and get out of the car, pausing after shutting the door to try and say something. “Um… seeya.”

He turns his head in your direction, not quite meeting your eyes as he replies, “Yeah, maybe.”

Try as you might to conjure something else to say, nothing comes. The breath you’d drawn to speak instead gets released, appearing in a puff of silvery mist in the cold air. You turn to walk up the path to your house, leaving it, and the events of the night, to fade away.

Billy sits in his car, one finger tapping on the wheel in an erratic, staccato rhythm even though the music had shut off minutes ago. He frowns at your retreating figure, wondering what on earth had possessed him to offer to drive someone home, especially for no clear gain.

_‘Restlessness.’_

The look in your eyes when you had said that - he had suddenly seen himself, only distorted and foreign from an outside perspective. There was a subtle shock that had come with realising somebody else feels the way he does, and it was confusing him.

He doesn’t understand what you had meant when you said you only _thought_ you had to leave. The certainty he has about California has been there for so long that sometimes it feels like it’s all he is. Whether he’s sitting in boring classrooms, working shifts at the pool, acting like an idiot at drunken parties, in shouting matches with his father - they’re all mindless, passing spectacles, wasting time whilst thoughts of waves and surfing and sun lurk ever-present in the back of his mind.

But who would he be when he gets to California? When that wanting is fulfilled, and the desire that fuels him is all burnt out, who is he? If he's anyone at all, below that?

He doesn’t know. 

He isn’t sure if he needs to or not.

And the unfamiliarity of his own existence makes him afraid.

A drive that had begun fraught and angered - _restless_ -starts to end as Billy brings the car’s engine thundering to life with a sharp turn of the key. Using a little more force than necessary, he hits the stereo’s play button, and pulls away into the dark.


End file.
